Parental Guidance
by RochelleRene
Summary: Season 7. Cuddy struggles with her insecurities and a time House hurt her in the past. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Z!


**Happy birthday to oc7ober, the smartest, funniest, most adorable, interesting and authentic person I have never met. (See what I did there?) I lobe you!**

**It's Season 7. It's mushy. It's your birthday.**

**[H] [H] [H]**

"I gotta go back in," House announced in the doorway of the bathroom. Cuddy was just toweling Rachel off and helping her into her pajamas. She looked back to see him putting his jacket on.

"What happened?"

"Chase has some really juicy gossip," he joked, but when Cuddy glared at him he added, "Tachycardia. So back to the whiteboard."

"Okay." Cuddy offered a sympathetic face, knowing how much it irked him when he was wrong.

"Where are you going, House?" Rachel asked.

"I gotta go back to work."

"But you gotta read me the bear book."

House shrugged. "Can't, kid. Your mom will do it."

"Nooo!" Rachel wailed. "I want you to do it."

"Rachel, House has to go. I'll read you the book," Cuddy promised, helping her step into her pajama pants.

"No! You don't do it right."

"I don't read it right?"

"You don't do the voices like House does!"

"Well, I can try."

"No!"

"Look, Rach, House has to go, so it just isn't a choice. Even if you have a tantrum." Cuddy looked back at House who was watching the exchange with his brow furrowed. "Just go, House. We'll be fine."

"I'll read it to you tomorrow, Rachel. Maybe even in the morning," he offered.

"Noooo!" Rachel screamed at the top of her lungs in the piercing shrill of a full-fledged tantrum.

House looked bewildered. "Okay, well… Bye," he replied evenly. He started walking for the door. Rachel ran out of the bathroom, still shirtless, and grabbed him around the waist.

"No, House!"

"Rachel, come on. I gotta go." He started trying to pry her arms off.

Cuddy swooped in and pulled her off of him, scooping her up and petting her gently. She spoke soothingly to her about how House would be back and they'd have a fine time without him, but Rachel still cried. Then House came back over and managed to crouch down to them, despite his leg screaming from the position. "Rachel, I have to go help someone who is sick. You don't want the sick person to be waiting for me, right?" This seemed to penetrate her irrational rage and she calmed slightly, making whining noises instead of shrieking. "So I know you are mad about your book, but this person will be mad to get sicker. So I have to go and I will come back." Rachel sniffed. "Okay?" She nodded, resigned to her powerlessness. House got up and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and looked back at them one more time. "So… okay. Bye, my girls."

Rachel glared at him, Cuddy rolled her eyes at her, and he left.

**[H] [H] [H]**

The next day House and Cuddy were eating lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Cuddy was complaining about a school assignment Rachel had. "The parents are supposed to help them make an artistic representation of their family tree, then work with them to write a short explanation of their artwork." She stabbed her salad ferociously. "I pay all this money to send her to this fancy-schmancy school that caters to her individual needs, but then they assign something that throws the whole 'adopted' thing in her face."

"She knows she's adopted," House said matter-of-factly.

"I know."

"And there have gotta be other adopted kids at her school," he added through a mouthful of Rueben.

"I assume. I mean, I guess that's why it's so open and artistic, to account for all the different sorts of family structures, but…" She trailed off.

"So what you're really saying," House began before taking a swig from his drink, "is that you pay all this money to send her to a fancy-schmancy school, and now they want you to be creative." He grinned at her. She narrowed her eyes but couldn't help grinning back because he knew her so well.

"I'm smart, organized, ambitious – "

"Hot."

"Hot," she agreed, "but I am not artistic."

"Don't worry. I'll think of something." He winked at her.

"Thanks, but, I'd rather her art project have a G rating."

"Bummer. There go my first four ideas."

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment and Cuddy watched House stuff his face. "I don't understand how you eat that crap and don't look like crap."

"On the outside," he clarified. "My insides are disgusting." Cuddy smiled until House held a fry toward her temptingly. "Come on, you know you want one."

"Not a chance," she replied, crossing her arms.

"Just try one."

"I know what fries taste like."

"Not these fries. Not these gloriously golden crispy-on-the-outside-mushy-on-the-inside fries."

"I know all about crispy coatings on mushy insides," she teased. Still he moved it closer to her lips, daring her. "No way, House. If I eat one I'll eat the whole basket."

He laughed and ate it himself. "Why?"

"Because I'm a woman and that's how we're wired. Once it passes our lips, we lose all control." She met his eyes and saw him arch his brow and give her a dirty grin. "Why am I dating a twelve-year old?"

He smirked. "You said it."

"You thought it." She watched him dip another fry into ketchup and pop it in his mouth. "The dirty version of that is true too, though," she said in a low raspy voice, returning his salacious look. House stopped eating and looked at her, leaning in across the table.

"Oh yeah?" he inquired smoothly. "You lose all control?" He saw her lick her lips and reciprocate the lean-in, and he knew she was about to say something deliciously filthy to him, when Wilson dropped into one of the open seats at the table.

"You'll never guess what I think I might do," he announced.

House didn't move, but remained propped on his elbows, leaning conspiratorially toward Cuddy, who had promptly moved back into her seat. He closed his eyes in disappointment. "You're gonna start slowly torturing buzzes instead of swiftly killing them?"

Wilson ignored him. "I think I might adopt a baby." Cuddy's eyes widened and House sat back in his chair, his expression a mixture of amusement and disgust.

"That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say," he told Wilson. "And I've known you a long time. And you're really dumb."

"It's not," Wilson continued. "I have money, security. I'm caring and kind. Shouldn't I help a child in need?" There was silence. Wilson looked back and forth between them, with an expression of indignation plastered on his face.

"Wilson," Cuddy began gently, "it's a noble idea, but have you thought this through? It's a huge commitment."

"That's what he loves about it," House chided. "The man craves huge commitments the way others crave… french fries. He likes to keep his belt size trim and just make his ego fat and sloppy."

"It's not about my ego," Wilson said defensively. "I'm just getting to an age where I'm thinking about the importance of my life, and doing something that matters."

"Matters to whom?" House snapped back. "You. You want to make sure somebody out there will weally weally wove you forever and ever." Wilson gave him a dirty look.

"He's being an ass," Cuddy conceded, "But House does have a point, Wilson. This isn't like a marriage. You can't divorce a kid."

"And moreover, that kid has no say in the kind of parent that picks him out of the baby mill. Who says you have any clue how to be a parent?" House said. He looked a little mad now.

"Who says I don't?" Wilson retorted.

"I do. Everyone thinks they could be a good parent when they picture little Jimmy Junior with his adorable chubby cheeks and his straight A report card and his high school valedictorian speech. But they aren't prepared for him spitting up on your patient files and his multiple school detentions and his prom night impregnation. And when that shit hits, they suck at it."

"You think I'd suck at it?"

"I think most people suck at it."

There was a long pause. Cuddy cleared her throat then and stood up with her tray. "I gotta go to a meeting," she told them. "I'll talk to you about it more later, Wilson. I'm not as… adamantly against it."

"Your meeting isn't for twenty minutes," House observed, looking at his watch.

Cuddy looked at him with an unreadable expression. "I know but… I'm just not hungry anymore. I'm gonna go get ready." She gave him a tight smile and walked away.

The men watched her leave and then Wilson said, "You got a problem."

"I didn't have a problem until _you_ showed up. In fact, I was being sexually titillated until _you_ showed up."

Wilson shook his head ruefully, "If I had a dollar…" They sat in silence for a moment, House still looking in the direction Cuddy left. "Well, then, go after her," Wilson urged.

"Spoken like a true oncologist."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You see a problem and just throw all your chemical warfare at it. I, my friend, am a diagnostician."

"So you see a problem and watch multiple organs fail while you try to figure out what it is?"

House looked at him and grinned. "And then I fix it."

**[H] [H] [H]**

That night when House arrived home, Cuddy and Rachel were already sitting at dinner. He was dropping his stuff on the floor and looking down at his shoes to kick them off, but surreptitiously raised his eyes to study Cuddy, looking for signs of her mood.

"Hi, House," Rachel said. "Our class got a pet iguana."

"Oh."

"His name is Ziggy."

"That's a stupid name."

"That's what I said. But the class voted."

House looked at Cuddy who smiled at him, totally normally. "I didn't fix you a plate," she told him. "I didn't know how late you'd be." House went back into the kitchen to get some food. By the time he rejoined them, Rachel had inhaled her dinner and wanted to be excused to go play. She scampered off just as House plopped down.

"So I think I talked Wilson down from a child to a medium-sized rodent," House announced. "I convinced him of the important impact he could make on a poor guinea pig's life." He saw Cuddy with her eyes downcast, her mouth turned down slightly.

"You're the only one I know who can make adopting a kid seem like a horrible act of selfishness," she said in a hushed voice.

"You want Wilson to adopt?" House asked incredulously.

"No," she answered quickly. "No, but… I think it's admirable he wants to."

"It's not admirable because it _is _selfish. He's just thinking about his pathetic empty life and how to make it 'mean something.'" House took a swig of the beer he had brought in with his dinner.

"Since when are you against selfishness?" Cuddy teased, but a little pointedly.

"Since it involves a kid," House answered immediately, looking right in her eyes. Cuddy blinked, a little surprised at how seriously he was taking this. House stopped eating, fork poised between his plate and his mouth. "Are you mad at me about this? That I don't think Wilson should adopt?"

"No!" Cuddy said, acting as if that were a ridiculous notion. "I don't think he should either." House waited for more. "I just think maybe you were a little harsh with him. A little blunt."

House held his hand out to her in a handshake gesture. "Have we met? Name's Greg House." Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean. It isn't just any random thing he was talking about. Thinking about being a parent is a very… self-reflective, emotional decision."

"I was helping him reflect!" House cried defensively.

"On how he… what was your phrasing? How he'd 'suck at it.'"

"What should I have said, Cuddy? He'd be sub-par? Behind the curve?" House took another bite of food. "Besides," he added, "I didn't make it personal. I told him most people suck at it." He chewed and watched her face cloud over again.

"Yeah, you did."

He swallowed. "What?"

"Mama!" Rachel called suddenly, and Cuddy got up from the table to go to her.

**[H] [H] [H]**

At bedtime, Cuddy was on Rachel's bed, singing her "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" since Rachel was obsessed with _The Wizard of Oz _lately. She was no singer, but she was making her best effort, which was good enough for Rachel, who was snuggling against her. Then they both heard House's guitar strums getting closer and soon he came in, playing the chords to the song and singing along in a silly falsetto, making crazy faces as he reached for the high notes. Rachel started cracking up. Cuddy smiled at him, but he saw her eyes well up and had no idea what to make of that. He was trying to smooth over whatever he had inadvertently ruffled, but this didn't seem to have helped. When the song was over, Cuddy kissed Rachel and left the room. House was standing there at a loss.

"That was pretty crazy, House," Rachel said, still giggling. He was distracted, though.

"Yeah… G'night, Rach."

"Night."

He walked out, closing the door behind him. He pulled his guitar off as he walked to the bedroom, where Cuddy was washing her face in the bathroom, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. He sat on the bed, laying his guitar next to him, and waited. She came out and saw him sitting there. They looked at each other for a minute in silence, then Cuddy gingerly perched on the edge of the bed across from him.

"What?" House asked again, more urgently than at the dinner table. "What did I do?"

Cuddy sighed heavily and the tears that had welled up in Rachel's room returned, plentiful enough this time to slide down her freshly scrubbed cheeks. "Do you think I shouldn't have adopted Rachel?"

House shook his head from side to side quickly, like he was mishearing her and needed to clear away something. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, you talking to Wilson… Do you feel the same way about me adopting Rachel?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"I'm not against adoption," he explained. "I'm against people adopting when it is all about them. When it isn't about the kid being adopted. Wilson's having a midlife crisis. This hypothetical child is his red convertible Porsche." He watched her, but her face still looked strained.

"But you also said Isuck at it."

"I said Wilson would suck at it."

"No," she said, and her voice caught in her throat so she made a sound like a sob. "You said _I _suck at it."

"When?"

"Alice Hartman."

"Who?"

"Alice Hartman. Your patient with protoporphyria. The little girl."

House's face fell. He remembered now. He remembered how he and Cuddy had been fighting, over Tritter and his Vicodin. He remembered her small and soaking wet and wide-eyed with panic about that little girl.

"In the shower. I was sitting with her in the shower and you-"

"I know," he cut her off. "I know what I said."

They sat in silence for a long time. He felt her searching his face for some understanding. He searched his own mind and memory for some way to mesh what he felt now and what he felt than. And, like so many things, it came back to the complicated cocktail of addiction and his un-ignorable feelings for Cuddy, his incessant need to come before everyone else when it came to her.

"Cuddy, I don't think you suck at being a mother," he finally said plainly. "I truly never did."

Cuddy swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. She wanted to believe him, but that day had always been this ugly moment burned in her brain. And when she felt insecure as a mother - which happened pretty much daily - she sometimes saw his face, heard his words, and felt so alone. She tried to explain. "I know this is… petty, maybe. I know it was years ago. But it was just this moment-"

"I know," he interrupted again. "I know I hurt you. I was trying to hurt you," he admitted. He remembered the confusion he felt back then, at how he obsessively thought about her, but felt it was doomed. The channeling of feelings from love to hate wasn't that hard; not as hard as trying to cultivate the apathy needed to function around her. "I was in pain and withdrawing and I blamed you and I was frustrated with the case and I _wanted _to blame you." He felt like he was talking about two different people in a way, friends they'd known in the past. "And it's not petty. When we first got together I told you I was afraid of this, that things I'd done in the past would… haunt us."

"It didn't for a long time. But she's just so important to me, and I want to do right by her, and as she gets older I just… Rachel adores you and sometimes I think maybe you feel like you have to make up for what I lack for her."

"Me?" He was incredulous. "Me make up for you? What are you talking about?"

"Like tonight," she said. "You come in and sing and make her laugh during my feeble attempt at a lullaby. And when you had to go back to work the other night, you're the one who could calm her down. And this stupid family tree project. You just want to do it for me."

"I want to help you. I don't think you're lacking anything. You get it all done even when it doesn't come naturally to you. _I _ can't do that. I can't do stuff I don't like to do for the sake of other people. I can make a stupid family tree project. I can spoof a show tune on my guitar. But ask me to... go to her parent-teacher conference and behave myself. I can't do it. Ask me to plan a normal kid birthday party and I'd really struggle." He scooted across the bed a little and grabbed her hand, wet from wiping the tears and snot off her face. "But you. You are this endless well of ability. You find ways to do everything. In everything you do, but especially with Rachel."

"Sometimes I _do _think I suck at it," she said quietly. She played with a loose thread on the bedspread. "Sometimes I think she loves you more than me."

"I remember right after you got Rachel," he said. "And Wilson told me you were freaking out, thinking you couldn't do it." She looked up at him, surprised he knew about this. "And I remember thinking that you'd be fine. I remember thinking that you'd find a way to learn to do this, even if you felt like an idiot at first. You always find a way to do everything."

"But how do you, of all people, know better? How do you make her laugh and calm her down better than me?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Cuz that's my role, Cuddy! I'm the silly clown that shows up and makes her mommy crazy and lets her eat chocolate syrup on her pancakes and does things other adults don't do. But I'm not the one who makes her obsessively-balanced lunches complete with little love notes. I'm not the one who reads the monotonous little books she brings home. I'm not the one who brushes her teeth and her hair and takes her temperature."

Cuddy offered a half-smile. "You definitely have the more glamorous role."

"But if I had adopted her,_ I'd _suck at it. You can't raise a kid with chocolate syrup and funny voices. And yeah, she takes you for granted, but don't you see how amazing that is?" Cuddy looked up at him, wanting to know, really know, how she was amazing at this. "That girl is lucky enough, despite the shit start to her life, to have someone who she can take for granted. Someone who takes such good care of her, she doesn't have to even think about it. She doesn't lose a wink of sleep wondering when she'll eat next, wondering if she's safe, wondering if she's good enough, wondering if she's loved. Her taking you for granted means you're fucking awesome." Cuddy looked thoughtful and a little heartened. Then he cleared his throat a little. "And I'm sorry I ever said anything different," he added.

She crawled across the bed and hugged him. "Okay," she sniffed. "Thank you."

"And I only offer to help to… like… help," he said defensively.

Cuddy laughed. "I'm sorry. It's just so unlike you."

House pulled back and smirked at her. "I'm growing. Tonight it was a silly lullaby. Maybe by the time she's eighteen I'll do a load of laundry or something."

**[H] [H] [H]**

The next week Cuddy was cleaning up the kitchen after putting Rachel to bed. She went through her backpack for her lunch and teacher notes. She found a large laminated picture and pulled it out. A note from the teacher was clipped to it:

_Dear Lisa,_

_Rachel's family tree is just lovely! We adore how you were able to make use of the project to frame your unconventional family structure in such a positive way. We worried about families who might struggle with the typical family tree, but we should have known better - You always manage to do everything!_

_With your permission, we'd like to submit Rachel's project to the city art show. We only ask that perhaps you'd consider removing the very last line. It is a little confusing and contains a word we'd rather not display publically._

_Congratulations on a job well done!_

_Cynthia_

Cuddy unclipped the note and looked at the picture of Rachel's family tree. It was… beautiful. House had drawn a detailed, regal looking tree with a trunk that was a human body with arms extended upward, becoming branches and wild hair flowing up into them, becoming leaves. The tree had a face. Her face. And in the tree Rachel had drawn a tree house with a little fairy living in it, pouring tea. In the branches of the tree she had drawn flowers and fruit and a big frowning monkey. Cuddy read the short essay that went with it.

_My mom is my family tree. She gives me everything I need and never falls down. She is also beautiful and strong. She holds up my tree house and keeps it safe and pretty. She picked me to live there instead of any other kids. She also lets House live with me. He is a silly monkey who makes trouble and makes me laugh. I have the best family tree in the whole wide world._

_Rachel Cuddy_

_p.s. My mom doesn't suck at anything and if someone ever says she does they must be on drugs._

Cuddy laughed out loud through the tears that were streaming down her face. Then she gathered herself and walked down the hall to where House was stretched on the couch, watching TV. House looked over at her standing in the doorway and she held up the laminated project. House grinned, then promptly looked away.

"Told you I'd take care of it," he said plainly.

"Take care of it?" she asked. "It's incredible. And they want to display it in the city art show."

House's eyes flickered back to hers for a moment, but quickly returned to the TV. "Really? Well, good for Rach."

Cuddy walked over to the couch and sat on his belly, resting her hands on his chest. "We have to take out the part about sucking and drugs, though," she informed him. House laughed.

"But that's the best part."

Cuddy reached over and grabbed his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Let's just take out the part about sucking and drugs," she repeated. "Take it out of everything." She bent down and kissed him softly, but he wanted no part of softly and moved a hand into her hair pulling her deeper into the kiss. "Thank you," she said against his lips. "And you are now in charge of all artistic assignments since I don't have a creative bone in my body."

"Deal. I have lots of types of bones." He ground up against her.

"Why do you have to wreck mushy moments by being gross?" She smacked his chest lightly.

"I'm great at sex," he said, sliding his hands over her ass. "And I'm decent at mushiness. I'm not good at them simultaneously."

"Never?" she pleaded.

"Only during full moons."

"Oh, come on, House," she teased, pulling her shirt off and hooking her fingers on his waistband. "Tell me how I'm like a beautiful majestic tree that shelters you."

"Shut up. You're shrinking my bonor," he ordered. He sat up and pulled her against him as he began kissing her neck and bare shoulders. Cuddy arched her back into his hands, urging him to continue his trail downward.

"We have to go to the bedroom," she murmured at the ceiling. "Rachel might wake up."

"She won't," he answered, unhooking her bra. "I drugged her."

"It pains me to have to make sure you're joking," Cuddy said, recovering enough to look down at him.

He met her eyes with a smirk. "I'm joking," he reassured her. "But she never gets up and we never have couch sex," he pointed out. "Can't you reward me for saving you from making a shitty family tree?"

Cuddy pouted. "It wouldn't have been _shitty,_" she protested. "Just, not awesome." House was ignoring her and pushed her back onto the couch, climbing on top of her and moving his hands to her jeans zipper.

"Well, I promise couch sex will be awesome." He lifted her hips and started sliding her jeans down her legs.

"House, what if she comes in?"

"We'll hear her."

"And what? Magically get dressed?"

"We'll tell her we're playing doctor." He started pulling her panties down.

"House!"

House gave an exasperated sigh, stood up, pointed at Cuddy and ordered, "Don't. Move." Then he walked down the hall and limped back without his cane. Cuddy raised her eyebrows at him. "I jammed my cane under her doorknob. She's locked in."

"Hmm. Locking my child in her room. You really know your way into a girl's panties."

But the last part of her quip was lost because he _did _know his way, and when he finished sliding them off and began kissing up one of her legs, all her worries – both immediate and distal – were gone. He acted tough and unsentimental, but the truth was he was mushy during sex in his own way. Cuddy had been with other men, of course, and no one had ever kissed her thigh like it was a privilege, slid a hand from her neck down the side of her body and along her other thigh like it was a joy, pulled her insistently closer to him like she was a treasure. Only House looked at her that way, touched her that way, and took his time reveling in her without even removing a stitch of his own clothes. Anyone can murmur a meaningless "I love you" in the heat of passion; not everyone can create that heat.

When she felt his mouth against her sex she melted into the couch, an arm thrown over her eyes and another searching to touch some part of him. She moaned and lifted her hips and found his fingertips resting on her thigh. They stayed there while she felt herself enveloped by the heat of his mouth, cognizant only of his tongue sliding against her and the solidness of the body she had her feet against. As she got more excited, her fingernails began pressing into his fingers, which made him press his fingertips more tightly against her flesh. When she cried out his name he groaned against her. The more aroused she became, the more aroused he became. It was sexual symbiosis. So it was no surprise that when she was right on the edge and cried out for the last time before stumbling into the silent nowhere and everywhere of bliss, glancing down and meeting his eyes for the brief second she could keep hers open, she fell knowing that he was watching her fall, enjoying her pleasure, mesmerized by what he could make of her.

She didn't breathe. She didn't talk. She didn't think. She didn't move, save the slow ebb of tension from every muscle in her body. By the time she'd rejoined the world. House had his head on her stomach and was running a finger back and forth over the dip of her waist. "That was the way, right?" he asked.

"Mfaskjgrdjkbns. Huh?"

"The way into your panties? I didn't make a wrong turn. Hit a dead end. Get pulled over."

Cuddy sighed happily. "You have a way with a metaphor, House." She teased. "It goes on in your mind for, like, hours after everyone else has forgotten about it."

"That's my contribution to the world. You and Wilson adopt babies, I adopt the poor abandoned metaphors and nurture them into their fullest potential."

"That's very big of you."

"Are we still talking about metaphors?" he asked, crawling up her body.

Cuddy grinned wickedly. "Are we?" she replied, beginning to unbutton his shirt. When he ducked to let her pull it over his head instead, he kissed her breast and she moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist. His huge hands circled her ribs, lifting her slightly while she fumbled with his belt and jeans. One hand released her to slide to the breast he was kissing, and he moved his mouth to the other. His free hand slipped up her neck and into her hair, but she turned her head to kiss it, wanting her mouth on him. He followed her lead and his lips came crashing onto hers as he finished kicking off his jeans, and when his fingers slid along her heat she moaned and his tongue slid into her mouth.

What he was doing felt so good, but she could feel his desire too, pressing against her and so she gently shoved his chest, signaling him to sit up so she could straddle his lap again. Her bottom lip was against his top as he gasped for air himself. She looked down and met his eyes briefly again, but this time he was the one forced to close his as she pushed herself down and around him. She moved slowly along him at first and watched his chest rise and fall as he held his breath between her movements, focusing only on the feeling of her taking him in. She leaned back a little to prop herself on her hands, to feel him the way she liked. The couch was too shallow, though, to lean back how she wanted. Even in his state of distraction, however, House knew what she liked and his hands circled her again, letting her lean back against them while she ground her hips onto his. The feeling of him supporting her made it better, in fact. She felt like he was on all sides of her at once. He was inside her, but she was inside the frame his large body could create around her. Like him, she thought things she rarely said, like how safe she felt when he held her, how sexy she felt when she made him moan her name, how loved she felt when their eyes met again and he half smiled at her.

But she also said it in her own way when she could no longer hold herself back. She sped up the rhythm of her riding him, squeaking out "yes" to all of those hidden feelings, along with the physical ones. Yes to living inside his world. Yes to wanting to give him pleasure. Yes to loving him.

When she came he felt it in his hands, her small trembling body, her hands reaching for his shoulders. And though he thought he maybe should be gentle and slow to let her recover, he gave in to his desire to be hard and fast so he could be relieved. She was still letting her head loll back when he scooped her back onto the couch, lay on top of her, pushed one thigh back, and entered her again. She didn't disagree with his decision in the least, and he let himself give in to what his body was begging for. He fell to his elbows and pressed his forehead into her neck, smelling her as he thrust into her again and again. Each time he thought he was done for, but each time the feeling of her just took him higher. But when her free leg that had been dangling off the side of the couch circled his hip and her foot pushed him deeper still, he was finally able find the feeling he was chasing, puffing hot breath along her neck, pulling gently at her hair, and hearing her head softly thud the arm of the couch each time he pushed into her.

They lay there dazed and recovering, with their fingertips still seeking skin and their mouths still grazing over each other. "I suppose we should go unlock my daughter's room now that we're sexually gratified," Cuddy mused.

"Glad you got your priorities straight," he teased.

"Mother of the year." She lay there thinking over the day again. "Speaking of Cuddy women who adore you despite your obvious shortcomings…" He raised his eyebrows at her. "Now that it's going on display, my mother's gonna wanna know why she wasn't incorporated into the family tree project."

House was quiet a moment. "She's in there," he replied. "It's subtle. She's the parasitic insect that burrows into the tree and tries to destroy it from the inside out to feed its insatiable appetite." Cuddy cracked up.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with a metaphor?" she asked him.

"Yeah, once. This total hottie. After I blew her mind." He kissed her lightly. "I think she was actually only into me for my reeeally loooong metaphors."

"Metaphorically."

"Exactly."

After another minute of quiet Cuddy suddenly smiled and looked up at him. "We should type the parasitic bug part up and give it to her for Mother's Day," she laughed.

House pushed a stray strand of hair off Cuddy's face. He thought about her mother's constant nitpicking of her. He thought about her foiled efforts to become a mother, which she'd mourned privately. He saw the vision in his mind again of Cuddy sitting on the floor of the shower, holding a dying Alice. But this time her saw more than her pain and fear, and he realized why she was amazing. He saw her ceaseless capacity for forgiveness. He saw her dauntless determination to rally. At the lowest point, the point when others admit defeat, the point when assholes like him kick her while she's down, she never gives up. She didn't give up on Alice. She didn't give up on motherhood. She didn't give up on him.

"She managed to raise you," he told her. "So at least she's an amazing mother by proxy."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Awww." She smiled widely at him. "House, are you combining mushiness and sex?" She put on a panicked expression. "It's like I don't even know you."

"The sex is over," he pointed out.

"It is?"

He pulled his face back as if to study her. "Usually when you start talking about your mother it's a cue we're not in Kansas anymore… And by Kansas I mean Dirtyland… And by Dirtyland I mean anyplace you're naked."

Cuddy wiggled out from under him, stood up and stretched luxuriously in all her naked nakedness. "Oh," she fake pouted. "I thought couch sex was additive, not a substitute." She bit her lip. "I thought this was just a respite before moving to the bedroom." She started walking slowly toward the hallway.

"See? Only you, Cuddy, could make couch sex even better than couch sex." Then he added seriously, "You are amazing."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him seductively. "House… Are you _sure _you're not combining mushiness and sex?"

He smirked and moved his eyes down to her bare ass. "I told you. During full moons."

"Aaaaand, he's back."


End file.
